Look at the Birdie (27 page)

“It really wouldn’t make any difference?” said Dr. Abekian, his back still to Joe.

“All I can speak for is myself,” said Joe. “Speaking for myself—no. The love I’ve got for my wife is certainly big enough to rise above something accidental like that.”

“Accidental?” said Dr. Abekian. He started to face Joe, but changed his mind.

“What the heck is it but an accident, who can have kids and who can’t?” said Joe.

Joe came closer to Dr. Abekian and the glass block window, was surprised to see in every dimple of every glass block a tiny image of his wife, Barbara, getting out of a taxicab. “That’s my wife,” said Joe.

“I know,” said Dr. Abekian.

“You know?” said Joe.

“You can get dressed, Mr. Cunningham,” said the doctor.

“Dressed?” said Joe. “You haven’t even looked at me.”

“I don’t have to,” said Dr. Abekian. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you that, as long as you’re married to that woman, you can never have children.” He turned on Joe with startling bitterness. “Are you a marvelous actor, Mr.
Cunningham?” he said. “Or are you really as innocent as you seem?”

Joe backed away. “I don’t know what’s going on, if that’s what you mean,” he said.

“You came to the right doctor, Mr. Cunningham,” said Dr. Abekian. He gave a rueful smile. “When I told you I wasn’t a specialist, I was very much mistaken. In your particular case, I’m as specialized as it’s possible for a man to be.”

Joe heard the sharp heels of his wife as she crossed the waiting room outside. He heard her ask someone else out there whether the doctor was in. A moment later, the buzzer rang in the back of the house.

“The doctor is in,” said Dr. Abekian. He raised his arms in mock admiration of all he was. “Ready for anything,” he said.

Out in the waiting room, the door to the back of the house opened. The baby was still crying. Dr. Abekian’s wife was still harassed.

Dr. Abekian strode to his office door, opened it on Barbara and his wife. “The doctor is in, Mrs. Cunningham,” he said to Barbara. “He can see you right away.”

Barbara, a little woman, a glistening trinket brunette, walked into the office, looking at everything with great curiosity. “You finished with Joe that fast?” she said.

“The faster the better, wouldn’t you say?” said Dr. Abekian tautly. He closed the door. “I understand you haven’t been quite honest with your husband,” he said.

She nodded.

“We know each other, you see,” Dr. Abekian said to Joe. Joe licked his lips. “I see,” he said.

“You now wish to be completely honest with your husband?”
Dr. Abekian said to Barbara. “You want me to help you achieve that honesty?” he said.

Barbara shrugged weakly. “Whatever the doctor thinks best,” she said.

Dr. Abekian closed his eyes. “The doctor thinks,” he said, “that Mr. Cunningham should know that his wife, while a student nurse, was pregnant by me. An abortion was arranged for, the job was botched, and the patient was made sterile ever after.”

Joe said nothing. It would be some time before anything coherent came to him.

“You went to a lot of trouble to bring this moment about,” said Dr. Abekian to Barbara.

“Yes,” she said emptily.

“Is the revenge sweet?” said Dr. Abekian.

“It isn’t revenge,” she said, and she went over to look at the thousands of identical images in the glass blocks.

“Then why would you go to so much trouble?” said the doctor.

“Because you were always so much better than I was at explaining why everything we did was all for the best,” she said, “every step of the way.”